The Unbearable Weight of Dying
by SnoopFroggyFrog
Summary: Some are called Tomas and Teresa; this one is Tom and the other is Hermione and they are not in a love story. In both of their lives nests the horror and sleeps the fear. The fear of the unbearable weight of dying. (AU, mostly minor changes)
1. soucit

**Chapter 1: soucit**

The unending, monotone ticking of a little clock on the mantelpiece was the only sound that she was hearing since was standing in the windowless room. She did not dare to make noises herself, out of fear that he might come back. Rather, she kept quiet as a mouse and dragged out her own inevitable demise. As before in the past minutes, or was it hours?, she took a look around the room, in order to avoid her thoughts from gliding into unappetizing future prospects.

The room was not ugly, but not really her style either. The grey stone the fireplace was made from was adorned with various chiseled imageries, artful and yet plain. It reminded her weakley of vine climbing upwards. On the mantelpiece was only the clock, made of heavy-looking, dark wood with gold-shimmering arms. Above it hung a still, non-magic picture of the shore of a lake between mountains.

She was standing before a comfortable-looking sofa, big enough that if she sat directly at the back of it, her knees would not even touch the edge, and the cloth was a pleasant dark blue. That fit well with the dark wooden floor and the walls, where the bottom half was likewise wooden and above that painted a pretty blue. There was a high shelf with closet-levels. She saw, on the shelves, many very old-looking books, and for the longest time now she was fighting with the impulse to just go there, take one and sink into it until her time had come. But she was a Gryffindor and what an embarrassement it would be not to face death with her head held high. To tell him without fear „I have been waiting for you", to then embrace the green light of the killing curse. Yes, she would not go down as a coward.

Immediately her thoughts turned to her friends. Ron and Harry. Not many friendships were built on the victory against a troll, theirs was holding for over four years now because of one. How could the others be faring? Hopefully, they had not been harmed as well. Especially Harry, the world needed him, after all. But she seemed to have been brought here alone, at least she had not seen anyone else, and so she had to assume that her friends and their families were alright. Surely, they would already be on their way to save her. Until then she was going to fight like the animal of her house.

With a long creak, which proved an eternal unoiling of the hinges, the heavy oak door opened and revealed the greatest monster that the magical world had ever seen, the worst dark wizard of all time.

She could not help but swallow heavily as his gaze fell upon her. Those cold, red eyes were frightful. Incidentally, she noticed that he must have changed. Instead of his simple, black robe he was wearing a white shirt and black trousers, a dark cloak above it, as well as dark boots. Of course, the _Dark_ Lord. A sneering part of her brain was laughing about the fact that one who placed so much value on his slytherin descendancy was very economical with the colour green.

Voldemort gave her a short, appraising look, then he indicated the sofa behind her with his hand.

„Sit down", he said curtly and sounded very tense.

Completely bewildered, it did not occur to her to protest. She had expected anything, feared the cruciatus, hoped for the quick avada, but an invitation to sit down had not at all been under the options she had considered.

He sat down in a dark armchair opposite of her. Only a low coffee table was not separating them from each other. Still, she sat directly at the edge of the sofa, ready to jump up anytime if necessary. Under no circumstances would she embarrass herself by scrambling to the back and, with that, show her fear.

The clock kept ticking. Voldemort had his elbows on the armrests of the chair, the hands wrapped into each other in front of his mouth, and he had developed an enormous interest in the surface of the table. Somewhere in her something screamed something about torture through uncertainty, but she silenced it. Whatever the reason for his behaviour was, she wanted to know what was behind it and for that she had no use for gnawing doubts in her already taxed brain.

„You are asking yourself why you are here."

He was not asking a question, he was stating a fact. Was that the legilimency of which she had read or just observing skills? No, it was too obvious for that, anyone would have asked themselves that if they had been in her situation. So it was a prelude. She kept silent so that he would continue.

He lowered his hands onto the armrests and leaned back, eyes slightly closed.

„Curiously, I had imagined this to be easier", he mumbled as if absent-minded.

A sting of fear shot through her as a thought arose as to what he could have been alluding to. How had she ungrateful, egoistic brat not thought of it?

„Did you hurt my parents?" it burst out of her, voice far too squeaky.

Her heart beat into her throat as the intense gaze of his eyes, seeming to practically alight, fixated on her. Eyes that had witnessed so many deaths, perhaps belonged to Death itself. He, Voldemort, Death... oh, please not for her parents!

„Mr. and Mrs. Granger enjoy perfect health for now. They don't interest me", he said quietly.

Her hands behan to shake and she buried them in her lap. His interest was for her. Not that that hadn't been expected given the situation, but to have it confirmed didn't make it better, quite the opposite. Was it because of her friendship with Harry? Her grades? Her pride hoped for the latter, even while she chided herself a numb nut. As if the Dark Lord had any use for her grades.

Suddenly, he drew his wand from his cloak and before she was able to shrink back in fright, inspite all of her resolutions, he had given it a flick and a lonely piece of paper descended onto the table between them. Surprised, she inspected it. That was her birth certificate. Hesitatingly she looked up at him and saw how he... offered her her wand! Her heart began to race like snitch wings and her mouth went dry. Wand, fight, flight...

„Get that out of your head."

Like a child that had been hit, she flinched. Instead of accepting her wand she looked at him. What did he want from her?

He indicated the paper with the wood.

„I assume you know a spell to reveal the truth on the paper."

She just nodded like an idiot. Now that was getting absurd. If he wanted it like that... better than to be killed, she shamefully admitted to herself.

First, she used a spell to prove that it was indeed her legitimate birth certificate. When that had been made certain, she said the spell „Aparecium" and the paper turned white.

As if she had burned herself on it, her wand fell out of her hand and clattered onto the table. White. Not existing. Her birth certificate didn't exist, _she_ didn't exist...

„But why did the legitimacy spell work, then?" she whispered, sure that she would not be able to bring out any more than that.

Voldemort appeared frightfully content and must have expected her question. Serenely, he answered: „That was part of the enchantment that you deactivated with the revealing spell. This certificate would have withstood every test, since _Aparecium_ does not belong to the typical assortment of examination spells."

What an exhausting reply, she thought, using all of her power not to break out in tears.

„I don't... exist?" she asked with a heavy voice and felt the old acquaintance of the lump in her throat which had always been a companion of her tears.

„Since you are obviously present that question is quite obsolete", Voldemort answered.

Had anyone told her before that he could be sarcastic... but she was unable to end the thought. Thick, hot tears ran out of her eyes and down her cheeks. She was not Hermione Jane Granger. Her life was a lie.

Suddenly, a thought hit her. What did that interest You-Know-Who, anyway? Unless...

„Don't tell me that one of your minions-"

„You should not even think of such follies", he interrupted her.

At least something. No Death Eaters as parents. That would have been all that she needed. But the question remained why he cared about it. If she was muggleborn after all, then her death was certain and this just a funny little torture for her. With completely normal middle-class wizarding parents, it would not have interested him. And if it wasn't Death Eaters...

„Someone from the Order?" she asked hesitatingly, unsure if he would answer.

He frowned and his lips pressed together.

„No."

Throwing all caution into the wind, she jumped up.

„What is this all about? I am not a Granger, my real parents are neither Death Eaters nor Order members nor anyone else! The only thing missing is that you want to tell me that you are my father!"

He was silent and just looked at her, impassive. Hermione fainted.

(A/N: Translation of my own original work from German, so please tell me if my word choices or grammar are off. Based loosely on my impressions of Milan Kunderas "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" that I probably took way too seriously. No knowledge of his works required. Trigger warnings will be placed before each chapter if there are any. Following Chapter 1, TRIGGER WARNING for Adoption/Foster situation related issues.)


	2. The Old And The New

**Chapter 2: The Old And The New**

With a lot of blinking, Hermione opened her eyes. Above her she saw a wooden ceiling and out of the corner of her eye the shimmering of a crystalline chandelier that was hanging from it. Confused, she sat up and looked to the side. There sat Voldemort, chin in his hand, observing her unaffectedly. She remembered what had just happened.

„No", she whispered and stared at him, eyes wide with fright.

He drew a hand along his bald head.

„I can't change reality."

He sounded as bitter as she felt. At least, he obviously didn't want her, so they just needed to part ways and no one would have to know.

„Listen, I'll just go home with my parents and we keep this between us, yes? You don't have to have anything to do with me if you don't want to."

Her voice had taken on an almost shrill tone. Panic kept stretching itself out inside of her and cold sweat ran over her forehead. This had to be a dream, a tasteless nightmare from having eaten something foul for dinner. Yes, that was it.

„I have no desire to rip you out of your life. Quite the contrary."

Her mouth dropped open as she realized what he wanted. Harry. He wanted her to bring him Harry. No, never!

„I will not help you kill Harry!" she hissed. No, no matter what some stupid spell revealed, she would not be betraying her friends.

His eyes narrowed and she jerked back.

„What I plan and what I don't is of no concern to you. Soothe yourself with the fact that I am indifferent to you, if that helps."  
With that he rose, straightened his clothes and stepped to the door. Incidentally, she noticed that he must have taken her wand back.

„We have the weekend before us to discuss this matter. I suggest that you start by accepting reality and thinking about how you want to proceed. Of course, you will do nothing without my consent."

With those parting words he disappeared, closing the door softly behind himself, and left her alone with a head full of high speed thoughts.

How was this possible? She – Voldemort's daughter! How was that _possible_?! Her parents had always told her how it had been during pregnancy... no, he could have changed their memories. Of course he had. Only, why? Why had he foisted her onto a couple of strangers, not to mention muggles? Had her mother not protested against that? Maybe she was dead. The thought made her vaguely sick, even more with the thought of this biological father of hers. She could not, would not have anything to do with him, rather she would focus on a... family member... that was more sympathetic and that hopefully was not travelling around in a murder spree. Would he tell her who her mother was? Was that the reason for his bitterness, did it have something to do with her mother? Well, the minimum that she was able to give him under that hypothesis was that he didn't seem to see her mother in her and, in a certain frame of mind, probably was treating her quite fairly. No torture, no punishments, rather he had been patient and hadn't even become mad when she had fainted.

She shook her head unwillingly. What was she even thinking? It was obvious that You-Know-Who would not act like she had imagined it based on history books and Harry's reports. Her... parents acted differently at work and with their employees than they did at home or among their friends, after all. That must have been the reason, that she was now someone whom he did not need to meet as an enemy, so that he was able to leave the sadism aside. In a meeting on the battlefield, it would probably have been a very different result.

She stood up and walked along the shelf, inspecting the book titles to free her head. The presence of books always helped her to calm down. Whether it was the smell, the appearance or just the general atmosphere that books gave a room, it made her heart beat calmer and more evenly and emptied her overburdened mind.

I suggest that you start by accepting reality and thinking about how you want to proceed, his words echoed inside of her. Accepting reality, she thought bitterly, that's easy for you to say. Your version of these... absurd events would probably be if Dumbledore were to tell you that he was your father. And proceed, how proceed?, she thought with increasing despair. Her friends would hate her. Everyone would hate her, except for the Slytherins, and she did not want anything to do with them. She would be a threat to his safety, people would perhaps try to kidnap her to pressure him to whatever, hopefully he wouldn't want that? But what if he forbade her from attending Hogwarts from now on? Anything but that!

No, Hermione, you are an idiot!, she screamed at her fear inwardly. What nonsense was she thinking together? If she was intelligent enough to become the best student of her year, then she was intelligent enough to remain calm and look at the problem as objectively as possible. What do you know, Hermione?, she asked herself.

I am Voldemort's daughter. The thought was unsettlingly easy to think. Whatever. She was Voldemort's daughter. Who knew about that, anyway? Only him and her, as it appeared. Even if her parents had noticed anything or would notice anything, he would likely manipulate their memories to keep the secret and simultaneously not draw attention to himself. Overall, he probably wouldn't want any attention, so no one would have to know the truth. Not even her friends.

She would be lying to her friends. Her mouth went dry. That was nothing that she wanted, but what else could she do? Ron had been basically raised by his family to generalize other families, even if she was unsure how much that applied to anyone other than the Malfoys. In any case, Ron would be backing away from her at first, and what would come then she was unable to predict.

And Harry? Harry would hate her. Not for herself but simply for her parentage. He had every right to, Merlin, her father had killed his mother and tried the same with him! Bad enough that the awareness of being under the same roof as a murderer and a terrorist was not making her panic now that she was relatively sure not to be on his list of targets. But to then expect from Harry to still see her as a friend if he were ever to find out, that she was unable to. Harry had every right to hate him and to wish him dead, nothing else were his father and godfather doing and they had passed that on to him. Had he grown up without the both of them, he would surely have developed or been able to develop a different stance to the whole issue, but the way that reality presented itself, there was no reason for him to even just tolerate her.

They could never find out. Lying, that she disliked, but her friends she didn't want to lose for anything! She would have to decide between her principles and her friends. Impossible. In any other situation, sure, she would put her principles, her ethical convictions first, but this... this was so besides any imagination, it was the old saying of the exception that proves the rule. An absolute exception. Now her reality.

She shivered and distracted herself by pulling a thick book from the shelf. Dust tickled her nose and she suppressed a sneeze. Not that he would then come back to see what was going on, even though she was hoping that trivialities such as sneezing would not interest him.

She inspected the book fascinatedly. It was bound in dark blue leather and star constellations had been painted onto the cover in golden colour. The title was „Fate or Foreseeing – The Fine Difference between Divination and Self-Fulfilling Prophecy". Jocasta Lympsham was given as the author.

She scrunched up her nose slightly. Divination. The subject was ridiculous and nonsensical at the same time. It surprised her to find such a book in the possession of such an unquestionably intelligent head. Although, maybe this wasn't his house but belonged to one of his minions? It would make sense, even though she could not think of any justification with which he had made the actual inhabitants stay away from some corners of the house or perhaps even outright disappear for a while. Surely it hadn't gone fairly.

She could have given no reason for why she opened the book inspite of all of her reservations against Divination if anyone had asked her, but she did it and as she pulled apart the pages at an arbitrarily chosen spot some more dust that had settled between the paper hit her. Almost immediately she sneezed and flinched. Fearful, she breathed as quietly as she was able to, and listened for possible steps that came in the direction of this room. Nothing. Nonetheless, her heart pounded like mad and only with effort she was able to really read something on the pages.

… _Self-Fulfillment, which signifies itself by being formed by the participating people. In the Self-Fulfillment, Divination plays no role besides that of presenting the possibility. Nonetheless there is no direct link between Self-Fulfilling Prophecy and Seerdom, for where the latter is influenced by magical, stellar, natural and social factors, there the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy is made by the people through which it could be born or was born. As such, this prophecy enjoys no definite character above all things and can therefore not be counted into the fiel-_

Had there been a sound? She stared at the door in concentration, at the same time hoping and fearing that it would open. Hoping, because then she would not be fearing his return anymore. Fearing, because she was unable to ascertain what would happen further. Minutes passed and nothing happened. Finally she turned away from the door and tried to focus on the book again.

… _is the Self-Fulfilling aspect no less a question of different factors than..._

What? For a moment she had to sort her thoughts until she noticed that she had continued in the wrong line. After some searching she found her way back.

 _-d of Divination._

 _The Divination, whose basic characteristic it is that in most cases it only takes on significance_ after _the Foretold has come true, is in the mouths of the people always decried, behind closed doors always as respected as feared. Contrary to the opinions of the masses, however, it does not concern itself with intended, shameless deceit, nor with worthy of devotion, godlike world understanding. The split opinion of the populace is a result of the fact that not few statements about the impending future, however immediate that might be, had been ridiculed at first before they came true after all, which generally creates a defiant stance because of the desire of men to be right. The accuracy of predictions, in this sense, presents an unconscious threat for the average wizard._

 _In fact, Divination is comprised of more than luck, which is not seldom accused, and a true Inner Eye. Contrary to most other branches of magic it also includes non-magical factors in it's processes. The combination of non-magical factors (Environmental influences, e.g. weather changes, seasonal activities of animal and man, deep interferences in the environment through natural processes or human design; Social influences, e.g. knowledge of the character of a man, the mentality of a village/country/institution, knowledge of the human mind and it's frequent, undecipherable ways) and magical factors (magical, e.g. the predictability of in certain situations utilized spells, the compatibility of spells, the magic in situationally participating plants, animals, magical creatures and men; stellar, e.g. knowledge of the influences of moon and lunar phases onto for these sensitive magical senses, the influence on planetary circumstances and the environment, as well as direct influence on magic through filtering (through it enhancement or diminishment of spells), reflection of magical conditions and impact of stellar magic) appears, in the best case, baffling to the uneducated mind, in the worst case antagonistic, not seldom through a feeling of inadequacy in the face of the great knowledge and the great-seeming abilities of the seer._

 _The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy differs from Divination, as mentioned above, through the participation of specific men. To put it differently it is the possibility, which the vision of a seer speaks over two or occasionally more men, a possibility that is tailored specifically to the relation of the participating individuals. Through this special position, the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, by it's very nature, does not stake a claim to the truth, but solely to the possibility that may come to pass. Through that the title of „Self-Fulfilling" arises, since a prophecy that makes itself true is after all a prophecy that becomes true_ by itself _, meaning through one or more persons which it does concern._

 _Without question is the Self-Fulfilling aspect no less a question of different factors than the usual Divination, however the difference is quite clearly noticeable in the fact that the specific factors that find impact here are resultant of the nature of the participants. The social factors play possibly the greatest role, as they impact us men more significantly than perhaps everything else, though the stellar factors do play their part not rarely through their influence on for them sensitive magical senses (as an example may Frecklork de Blingreen be cited, whose extraordinarily fine senses turned him, on every full moon, from a humble librarian into an uncontrolled, joy-seeking and manical dancing-griff). Even the environment plays a role, for example in the sensitivity to weather of some wizards, perhaps a winter depression or springtime lethargy._

 _In any case it follows: The itself fulfilling prophecy is it's very own branch of magic and to be seen as separated from the seerdom._

 _The question of Foreseeing or Fate..._


End file.
